


Happy, Vibrant Colours (EDITED)

by SoapyPasta



Category: iZombie (TV)
Genre: Alcohol fixes all life's problems, Angst, Anti-zombie propaganda, Blaine actually misses his dad?, Blaine is a dick most of the time, Blaine is suck a cutie, Blaine trying to find love, Brooding, But that's not suprising, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, He is trying, Hes trying to find a girl just as lonely as him, His actions are completely unnecessary, Kssksksk, Liv hates Blaine, Lots of drinking, Parents, Romance, Tags Are Hard, We stil love him though, does anyone even read these, hard decisions, poor guy, writers block sucks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2019-07-18 17:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16123739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoapyPasta/pseuds/SoapyPasta
Summary: Blaine is still torn up over Peyton and Don E. is sick of it, he wants his best friend to find love so sets Blaine off on a mission to find the girl of his dreams and like a dream he only expects it to last one beautiful night.Lexi is unimpressed by most men, picky to say the least and now she's a zombie finding love will be just that much harder.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy reading this as much as I love writing it :))
> 
> This book is updated faster and edited on my wattpad, my name on there is SoapyPasta too, if you enjoy this book or the concept please consider reading it there instead!

_》Her thoughts《_

_He's everything I've spent my entire life trying to avoid and that only makes me want him more. He's a hedonistic, narcissistic, megalomaniac fuelled only by his hunger for power, but isn't there something strangely attractive about that? - I can answer that. There's definitely something attractive about that._

_He's the kind of man who would go out of his way to chase whatever he wants until he gets it, yet never finds himself needing to run far._

_I'd give anything to make him chase me._

_That's the problem with men like that though, isn't it? They aren't the kind of men to fall hopelessly in love, they are too calculated, too well guarded. Callous, sly and painfully sarcastic, yet still utterly perfect in every single way._

_Blaine DeBeers is the type of man women are supposed to hate, the type of man who breaks hearts and wears the title 'player' with pride. Women aren't a toy to be played with - tested out and thrown away when you are bored of them._

_He's the kind of man who leaves before you wake up in the morning. He's the opposite of domestic, he'd never be a family man, marriage and children are words that could drive a man like him mad. Loving relationships are completely out of the realm of possibility for him - however, here I am, wanting exactly that, and finding myself wanting it with him._

_》His thoughts《_

_Sickly sweet, annoyingly innocent, impossibly shy and too genuinely kind to cope with, I think that's a fair description for her. Her. The girl that runs through my mind, leaving trails of vibrant happy colours and blindingly bright sunlight in her wake._

_Lexi Gilbert, she's a goddamn masterpiece, she's heaven sent. She's everything I hate in a woman. Still, I'm here, finding myself hoping she'll stay, finding myself hoping she feels the same way I do, finding myself hoping she never finds out who I really am. She'd leave if she knew._

_It's stupid, I've spent every day of my undead life telling myself that sex is nothing more than a business opportunity, and maybe a convenient source of empty pleasure. That relationships were nothing more than a burden that would only weigh me down in the end, but being weighed down by her? Now that doesn't sound so bad._

_Still, I'm a monster, there isn't room in my heart for someone so positive, she's helpless. She's drowning in a rose-tinted layer of optimism and the longer she knows me the thinner that layer will get. I lie, I cheat, I manipulate, she doesn't deserve that._


	2. Some friendly advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don E. and Blaine have a long needed discussion that doesn't go exactly as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of these chapters will be kinda short but quality over quantity right? (I say that knowing I have 4 books based around Blaine lol)

**_//Him//_ **

"Listen, man, I'm not saying you should go out there and fall in love, you've tried that once and look how that turned out - no, all I'm saying is there are girls out there tonight, _gorgeous girls_ , who would give you the night of your life and instead you're spending your time sitting in a bleak basement with a bottle of wine and thoughts of some woman who never even knew the real you." Don E. stood in front of my desk, waving a cloth in one hand and a glass dripping with suds in the other. I'm sure he has more important things to do than lecture me on my failing love life. I've never even seen him with a girl, or a guy, why is it him giving me this talk?

He's right though, as much as I hate to admit it, Don E has a point. I can't stay sat in my office all night every night. Though for once in my life I can honestly say the thought of laying some random woman I find drunk in a club doesn't sound appealing to me at all. I don't want to think like this but, Peyton changed me - for the worse; it seems now I'm always caught up on _feelings, emotion, love_. Caught up on things that I would mock others for caring about. Women were like a game to me before Peyton. I'd see a woman at a bar and try to guess how long it would take before she was passed out in my hotel suite for the night. Her clothes scattered along the floor somewhere near the door. I'd set some impressive records as well, always trying to find the women who would be the most challenging, if they were human it was a bonus - a night of passion and a morning of full pockets after I fill her in on my brain business.

One thing hasn't changed I guess, money is my muse. The challenge doesn't interest me anymore though. It's not hard to charm a drunk and dazed woman into bed, but finding that someone? Now that's the real challenge. However, I'm pretty sure I've already found her and even more sure I've ruined all chances of that happening, so now I'm left to drown in my own self-pity - and wine.

"Blaine? Are you even listening to me man? Look," He pauses, I feel uncomfortable, being judged by him, I feel as though he's looking down on me. He doesn't get to look down on me, I'm in charge here. "I'm trying here, I really am, I hate seeing you this down. Go get some action tonight, or at least make an effort to speak to someone? God, sleep with Candy again if you have to, just get out of this ditch you've found yourself in. I can only deal with so much of this shit Blaine. It isn't you." And with that he stormed out, rubbing the glass in his hands dry considerably more roughly than necessary, his wrist must be getting tired, he's going to turn the glass to sand at this rate. Is me not sleeping with women really that much of a problem to him, I mean why does it really matter? Am I at the point where I'd take life advice from Don E? Dear God, save me - or at least get me a drink.


	3. Lonely in the crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexi goes out for the night with her sister who seems to know how to do only one thing, dissappear, leaving Lexi with her thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the chapters won't always be this short....

_**//Her//** _

I'm not sure how I let my sister drag me into a human vs zombie night at _'The Scratching Post'_ , bars have never really been my scene and bars that thrive off the fragility of our new society? Not really the business I'd want to support, but that girl could talk me into anything, I swear. She gives me those cute little puppy eyes and I just can't say no, she could talk me into murder. Some people say she's capable of it, murder, despite her job as some rookie cop's sniffer dog. She gives off a _'vibe'_ Cole always said. I disagree. So here I am. Sat alone, after being abandoned by the very same older sister who dragged me across Seattle to experience the "greatest night of my life" in the first place. I have to admit so far, I'm severely underwhelmed, the atmosphere is just so off. Is it wrong to say all the people dancing is annoying me slightly? They act like the possibility that Seattle might be wiped off the map any day now isn't something to be glum about. It is.

I'm not sure quite what I expected but I have to say, the club itself is quite well presented. It'd be classy if it wasn't for the zombie hookers with their garish wired bras, pushing their breasts forcefully into the faces of sexually-deprived men, there's a lot of those - _the men, not the hookers._

The bartender, who had clearly subjected himself to the tasting of _modern-artist-blue-brain_ prior to serving tonight, is also bringing the place down. But all in all? I'm impressed by the look of it all. It's just a shame about all the people.

Maybe I'd come here again sometime in the future to drink away my sorrows, preferably on a night where there isn't a large dance-off situated in the centre of the club - yeah, that sounds nice. Hopefully, it would be quieter on another weeknight and I'd feel less bad about drinking in a poorly lit corner alone.

Part of me wishes I had someone to dance with. Not an annoyingly hyperactive older sister that has a habit of blending in with the crowd and leaving me stranded in unfamiliar territory, but a man - a tall, strong, protective man. Someone kind, someone handsome, someone you dream of having children with. Someone who would laugh and dance, drinking his way through the night with me but also someone who would understand if I just want to sit quietly and talk about anything and everything while others get up and dance around us. A man that's passionately calm. That might seem like a lot but in reality, I don't know what I want. I'm just describing every woman's ideal right?

Then there's still this whole other part of me who thinks men are worthless, all they ever want is sex and someone to compliment their dick. That part of me tends to come out when I meet even the nicest of guys. Men use women as an ego boost. _They lie, cheat, manipulate_. This part of me is overly pessimistic, of course I know there are good men, the problem is finding them. That's why I just sit back and wait for the good men to find me, though that hasn't worked out well for me so far.

Maybe it's time I try make a move.


	4. Him and tonic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexi and Blaine see each other for the first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a real though Blood orange gin and tonic is to die for and editing this I'm high key craving some.

**_//Her//_ **

I begrudgingly leave the seclusion of my booth and wander up to the bar to order my fifth spicy Gin and Tonic within two hours - I'm going to make the most of this night if it _kills_ me.

I choose to take a seat on one of the stools at the end of the bar closest to the door and play aimlessly with the chilli pepper that rests on the side of my glass. Sitting near the bar makes me more approachable I figure - or makes me seem like I'm willing to get drunk out of my mind, which appeals to the wrong type of man. Oh well, I'm sat there now.

The bartender, a man clearly younger than myself with his hair slicked back into a tight ponytail walks over to the other end of the bar and, my eyes, lacking stimulation from elsewhere, decide to follow. There's a man down there. He takes a seat, walking around from somewhere behind the bar - a back room? Does he work here? - he looks irritated, he's sat alone too. The bartender hands him a glass of whiskey without communication. He must work here, they are familiar with each other.

I can only see the side of him that's facing me, and even then it's only lit up by a small bulb hanging above the bar. From what I can make out, he's hot. His hair looks a shade whiter than mine - if that's possible, glowing luminescent under the light. It's messy, fluffy as if he'd been running his hands through it subconsciously, yet it's clear some effort has been put into it. His night might just have been rougher than mine. I figure while he pulls it off well there's no way he spent time trying to achieve that look. Though I do love messy hair.

They start talking and I scoot closer to listen, his voice, I like his voice. _Gruff_ , as though he's tired, bored, annoyed - I enjoy listening to that annoyed tone, it's thick, yet smooth like syrup. I make out some of their conversation, barely. "If I'm in my office when Don E. comes back can you tell him I have a girl in there? He wants me to _spend the night with someone._ " He puts emphasis on 'spend the night', clearly not in the mood for what that night would entail.

"A girl? Why?" The bartender's nose scrunches up involuntarily, out of disgust or confusion I can't tell.

"Yes, a girl, why is that the part you see a problem with? And man, I wish I knew, can anyone understand what goes through that kid's mind? Anyway, as long as he thinks I'm _"getting some"_ ", he uses air quotes, "tonight I can work undisturbed. It's not too hard for you to tell him I'm with someone, _right Tanner?_ " The seated man laughed slightly, but it wasn't a happy laugh, it was unhumourous and it wasn't matched with a smile.

I can't see but he's probably rolling his eyes, he looks like he rolls his eyes a lot, seemingly unimpressed by everything. _I'd like to impress him.._.I'm choosing to believe that's the Gin talking.

"Sure Boss, " - so he's the owner? "...but why not just get a hooker? It's your club wouldn't it be free?" Tanner pulls a face that suggests he's genuinely confused, which seems to irritate the man further.

"I don't want a _hooker_ , Tanner. I want to work quietly in my office." The boss was clearly agitated at this point, I've never heard someone sigh so much in one conversation before. Though in his defence the bartender didn't seem like the brightest bulb. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip before downing the rest of his whiskey, his third glass, that was quick - is he trying to catch up to me? He glances up at Tanner, who chooses to walk away from the conversation, probably the right decision.

Walking over to me Tanner gestures to my glass, "Another?" he mumbles, I look down. When did I drink that? Regardless I nod, taking another quick look down the bar. He's looking at me, his eyes seem to linger on my body a little too long for a man who claims he doesn't want sex tonight but I'm not complaining. I've got to the point in the night where any male attention is welcomed, attention from him specifically? That's a bonus. I see his face clearly for the first time, the light above him casting shadows on his skin, making his cheekbones appear more prominent. Those eyes seem colourless, dark, intense, I can't help but wonder what they'd look like in the sunlight. I imagine they're a stunning crystal blue. His skin is dark for a zombie, clearly fake tan, why bother covering up the skin but not the hair? Why bother covering up at all if you own a zombie club? Though it'd be lying if I said he didn't look good. He's wearing a black button-down shirt with the top few buttons undone, which gives me a great view of his neck and collarbones, his jeans are tight, _so tight_ , black and fitted perfectly. God, I'm drunk.

To my displeasure he turns away, back to his drink, I swear I see him sigh. Again. Maybe he's gay? Whatever, if he doesn't want my attention he's not going to get it, I've got another glass in front of me I need to finish and I'd take alcohol over a man any day. Men are monsters.


	5. The morning after

**_//Her//_ **

Where am I? I find myself struggling to open my eyes, it's light in here, wherever here is, but my eyes finally seem to adjust - if only a little. I groan. Grabbing my head I attempt to sit up, _bad decision_.

"Easy there darling, you drank a lot more than you could manage last night." Such a smug tone. That voice, I recognise that voice, the man at the end of the bar, the boss.

"Boss?" - why did I say that? He's not my boss, _idiot_. My sight was still blurred but I didn't need it, I could almost feel him smirk.

"Well if that's what you're into sure, but most people call me Blaine. What about you sweetheart?"

Groaning, I take a minute to think, _Blaine huh?_ Not what I was expecting, though I'm not quite sure what I was expecting. Something more fundamentally manly I suppose, like Mark, is Mark a manly name?

"Do you just not know your name or are you like," he stops a second to think,  "part-mute or something?" I look up, the room spinning slightly as I do, he's stood above me wearing the same clothes as last night, only more creased. His eyes narrow as he watches me, I look past him. I think I'm in an office? Now my eyes have adjusted it's actually quite dim in here, eerie, resembles a villain's secret basement - I'm overthinking. He asked me a question, what was it?

"Well I'm gonna take that as a _'leave me alone',_ I know when I'm not wanted." With that he turns away from me, grabbing an empty glass from the desk beside him and edging toward the door with it in his grasp. I take the moment of relief from his scrutinising eyes as a chance to look myself over and try to figure out what exactly happened last night. I'm lying on a couch situated in the corner of the office. I still have his Jacket slumped over my fully clothed body, so we didn't sleep together? That makes sense, it seems like something I'd remember.

"W-wait, " I manage to stutter out through the dry cave of my throat, he turns "water?" I ask and it comes out quiet, shy, distorted because of how tired I am but he hears it.

"She speaks!," he cheerst sarcastically, "I still don't know her name--"

"Water."

"Right. Water. No, 'thank you for letting me sleep in your office while you work overnight _boss_!' Or 'sorry for drinking to the point where I pass out on the dance floor so you have no choice but to babysit me all night _boss_!'" He mocks. "Just water." He rolls his eyes, walking out and shutting the door behind him. I can tell by his tone and the lazy look in his eye he's exhausted, did he even sleep last night? There's only one other chair in this room and it's an overpriced looking desk chair, there's no way he could've slept on that, it looks way too uncomfortable. Judging by the pile of papers on the desk it's tucked into he couldn't have slept even if he wanted to. Maybe I was too harsh, commanding, I'm not usually like that and he clearly doesn't deserve it, I'll apologise.

"A cup of water for the lady." He drags me out of my thoughts by presenting a glass in front of me, I didn't even see him walk in. I take a sip, neglecting to thank him as the cool nectar slid down my throat, making it feel normal again.

I swallow hard before looking up at him. "Lexi, my name is Lexi Gilbert."

He raised his eyebrows, "So you're communicating now, Lexi?" Now it's my turn to roll my eyes, I mean come on, how was I supposed to hold a conversation with a mouth drier than a desert?

"I am, though I have to say, I thought you'd be more pleased, given how difficult it must be to get girls to talk to you if your employees try to set you up with your own hookers." He narrows his eyes at me again, I was making a joke, did I upset him?

"Oh I am pleased, can you not tell by my joyous tone?" He leaned against his desk as he spoke, sarcastically again - sarcastic must be his default setting. He crosses his arms.

"Also, can I have my jacket back now or...?" He smirks, he looks cute when he's smirking, though slightly sinister I have to admit.

"Hm, I don't know, I quite like it, and it probably looks better on me anyway right?"

A light chuckle escapes his lips, "You're right, though it would look even better if you didn't have red wine stains down the front of your blouse, at least I hope that's red wine. I'd--"

"WHAT?" I yell out, how did I miss that when I looked down? If I was human I swear my cheeks would be bright red right now and he knows it. I pull the Jacket over my chest, covering myself. "Shit!" He laughs wholeheartedly now, his eyes scrolling down my body before his tongue subconsciously peaks out and runs across his bottom lips.

"It's fine, I think it suits you, you're letting everyone know what a fun night you've had. I'm sure most people would be jealous of you if they saw it."

"Right, so fun I can only remember half of it." He laughs again, clearly finding amusement in my annoyance.

"Come on drink up," he gestures to the water in my hand, "I'll give you a ride home."


	6. A gentleman would've

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast and a drive home

**_//Her//_ **

"Blaine?" I mumble as we step out of his office, I feel strangely comfortable around him - though sometimes I'll see his eyes drift across the room as he slips into his thoughts and I swear they turn five shades darker. There's something pained in that look, it makes his whole face seem cold, calloused, cheerless. It's intimidating. I don't like it when he looks like that.

He hums questioningly in response as he turns to look at me, the corner of his lips quirking up in amusement as he glances down at my shirt, _dick_.

"I'm hungry," I state, he serves brains here right? Surely it won't put too much of a dent in his bank to let me have some breakfast before we leave.

"Got any money on you?" He stopped in front of me, _the nerve_ , I think, my company is payment enough. He sighs at my lack of response and glances up at the clock, _somewhere more important you need to be?_ I'll admit I have a habit of getting lost in my thoughts for far too long but pointing it out so blatantly seems slightly uncalled for.

"Sit." He orders, oblivious to my annoyance as he points toward a booth, "I could do with something to eat too, I'll be back." And with that, the black-clad man who had practically pushed me past a table into a cushioned seat moments ago was gone. Though before the chance for me to slip back into my thoughts could arise he's back, stood in front of me with two plates of brains. They both look identical.

"So..." there's a mischievous grin creeping up onto his lips, _oh God_ , here we go, "my dear Lexi, one of these plates consists of possibly the best brain you'll taste, a musician with exquisite skills marinated in the finest hot sauces you'll find in Seattle..." He seemed all to proud of himself.

"And the other?" I question, what game is he playing?

"The other? " He grins wider, "well let's just say you should pick carefully."

Oh no, oh no. This is not about to happen, I'm not playing this game with him, that other brain could be anything, a murderer, the murderer's victim who was tortured for years, someone who has a creepy kink - okay maybe one of those options isn't as severe as the others but it still wouldn't be great. Not that my sex life has been tantalising recently anyway, it's pretty much the opposite, maybe a kinky brain would spice things up. I pick a plate and judging by the way he discards the other with a huff I'm pretty confident it's the musician. He shares the remaining brains with me, along with an awkward silence that fills the room, something tells me that if I had picked the other brain we'd have a lot more to talk about. I have to admit though, he was right, this tastes incredible, the metallic tang of the brains subdued to a soft, enjoyable buzz that hits the back of your palette, waves of heat crashing onto the beach that is my tongue with every bite, sharp and bitter, with a harsh and unexpected kick, followed by a sweetness I never thought I'd be able to taste as a zombie. No wonder he doesn't want to give this stuff away for free, it's to die for.

He watches me as I eat, which makes the whole situation just that more awkward, and judging by the smug look on his face he can tell how much I'm enjoying it. As long as he doesn't brag. It's not like he cooked it himself. As soon as we finish he leads me out to his car, _so predictable_ , it's a sleek, shiny, black model. It's modern, sporty, you don't have to know anything about cars to tell it's expensive. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me gawk, he'd relish in that, so instead, I walk silently behind him.

To my surprise, he opens the passenger door for me, "Your majesty." He bows slightly and gestures for me to get in, I'd be flattered if his tone wasn't so snarky. I'm not stupid enough to consider him a gentleman for opening a car door, he doesn't strike me as the type to put women before himself. Nevertheless, I thank him as I get in and shuffle to reach for my seat belt as he walks around the car and gets in himself.

"Never been in a car before?" He remarks sarcastically as he watches me fumble with the belt, amused. _See_? A gentleman would've lent over to help without so much as an odd look. I can't help but notice how his mood shifted since we left his office, he's dreading something, still, no reason to have an attitude with me. You can't open a car door then not help me with my seatbelt when I'm struggling. Silence. A long, silent ten minutes before...

"So what's your address?"

We've been driving for ten minutes and he had no clue where he was going? How had I neglected to tell him? Why didn't he bring it up before now? God, as if it couldn't get any more awkward in here.

I make my annoyance clear to him before giving him directions to my apartment. He doesn't seem to care about the time we'd wasted, then why was he looking at the clock so impatiently back in the bar? He makes no attempt to force conversation, which part of me is grateful for. Though the dense silence filling the car allows my mind to focus on other things. Things that I think I may be better off not noticing, like the way he taps the steering wheel in a poorly paced rhythm every time he slips into thought. It's rough, fast, careless, his mind is focused on something much more serious than the way his fingers hit the tight leather his hands sat on. Or the way he keeps glancing down at his phone, his eyes nervous, despite his attempt to look neutral. It's a call he's waiting for, or a call he's already received. He doesn't seem to care that my eyes are on him, that or he hasn't noticed. It smells crisp, clean in here, with the faint hint of the cologne I presume he must have been wearing last night. It was warm, musky, if I really strain I can sense something cooler, something minty running through it to cut through the sharp spice. It's a pleasant smell. I wonder if he made any effort to analyse me in the way I did him, I doubt it. I'm just delaying him, I'm nothing, an errand he has to run.


End file.
